Claudia came in by herself, sporting a chic, cropped leather jacket, her cherubic face looking cute but wary as she scanned the room. The minute she saw me, she smiled and started my way only to stop herself when she noticed I was already with two Spaniards. I gave her a truly apologetic look but she just shrugged and asked to join the table she was closest to.
Dave, with his hair extra stiff and spiky, came in with Beatriz and managed to get the last empty table by the door. Seconds later a sleek-looking Mateo was joining them. Beatriz actually got out of her chair and I had a split-second to admire her tapered legs, yellow strapless dress and cardigan set before she wrapped her arms around Mateo and hugged him like she’d known him her whole life. The embrace was quickly followed by the traditional “beso beso”—quick pecks on each cheek—and he happily joined their table.
Ugh. Now I really felt disappointed. I started cursing at myself, feeling so stupid for sleeping through dinner. Who knew what had happened after Dave and Beatriz’s? Perhaps they went to dinner, made friends with everyone, Mateo included, and dragged everyone back to their place to party. I felt like I was in high school all over again, opting to spend many nights at home by myself yet always regretting it on Monday when I heard about all the awesome parties I missed and all the boys I could have kissed.
To make matters worse, the Anglo who sat down at our table was Lauren. There were a ton of other people left, Anglos I hadn’t even had a chance to meet, and yet Lauren was the one who pulled out her chair like she was the Queen of fucking England and sat down.
“I hope they didn’t forget my vegan breakfast,” she said, not even bothering to say hello to Antonio or Sara.
“Your name is Vegan?” Sara asked, peering at her name tag in confusion.
Lauren pulled off her glitter glasses and squeezed the bridge of her nose. “No,” she said, as if speaking was a huge effort. “My name is Lauren. I am a vegan. It’s a life choice.”
Antonio scrunched up his nose. “You are vegetarian?”
Before she could lecture him, I turned to her and said, “I don’t think they bring it to your table. I think it’s a help yourself type of thing.”
“We’ll see about that,” she said and stalked off toward Jerry.
I gave Antonio and Sara an apologetic look. “Most vegans are nice,” I explained feebly. I picked up my plate and headed toward the buffet. As soon as I got there, standing in line behind a really tall Spanish dude with the name Ricardo, I had to giggle to myself.
The entire buffet was just meat and cheese. That’s it. There was a bowl of fruit salad and some whole grain bread that you toasted yourself, but literally everything else was a vegan’s nightmare. Salami, pastrami, prosciutto and ham sliced thinner than paper, followed by a million different hard cheeses, soft cheeses, cottage cheese. Finally there was a large platter of churros and some cups of bread pudding, most definitely un-vegan as well.
If she didn’t get her own private menu, Lauren was going to flip her lid. It was probably really wrong of me to rejoice in that, but what can you do.
“How are you, Vera?” A silken voice interrupted my evil musings.
I turned to see Mateo standing right behind me. He looked great, fresh even. It was a novelty to see him for the second time, the second day. A new look, a new Mateo. Today, he was wearing a full on suit; dark blue pants and blazer, light blue shirt, no tie. It fit him perfectly and looked very smooth, very expensive, silk and wool. His hair was still skirting the line between groomed and messy and I still wanted nothing more than to tug at the ends of it to feel how soft and strong it was. His strong jaw and lean cheeks had a darker shade of stubble going on, a ten o’clock shadow.
I ignored the pulse of heat between my legs and managed to give him a smile. “Oh, hello. Good morning. I am fine, how are you?”
I know I sounded completely formal but I was trying to err on the side of the fact that we weren’t really friends per se and I did need to speak proper English. Or maybe I was trying to save face over the fact that the last time I’d seen him I had the words Marilyn Monroe stuck to my forehead.
“I am well. I missed you last night,” he said, his words causing my stomach to tumble momentarily. I needed to eat something. “Where were you?”
I tried to speak but he squeezed against me, the air filling with his bracing ocean scent, as he reached past to scoop up a mound of ham with the tongs. He plopped some of the ham on my empty plate before putting the rest on his.
I licked my lips, watching as he put a few slices of cheese on our plates as well. Either he was really chivalrous and wanted to feed me, or he wanted me to hurry my ass along so everyone else in line could eat.
“I didn’t mean to miss dinner,” I said, scooting over to give him room. “I don’t know what happened. I just fell asleep.”
“Oh yes,” he said. His eyes glittered like golden brown topaz. “I heard you had some grappa and then never woke up again.”
My mouth dropped and I angled my neck around him so I could see Dave and Beatriz at their table. “I had one shot and then I went back to unpack. I was tired to begin with.”
He shook two pieces of toast at me before he put them in the toaster. “If you knew how to take siestas, then you wouldn’t be so tired that you miss dinner,” he lectured teasingly.
“Hey,” I said in a faux-authoritative voice. “Siesta is Spanish for little sleep. No Spanish allowed. I just saw a bunch of guys get in trouble for speaking it.”
Mateo raised a brow. “Well, I am not a fool. I came here to learn, not to waste time or money. You, Vera, you need to have a little sleep today so that you can stay up tonight. Tonight there is a party.”
“Oh? There wasn’t a party last night?” I asked, hinting around for clues as to what happened when I was dreaming away. “Everyone seems really close this morning,” I added.
He studied me for a moment before he said. “No party. We all had dinner, lots of wine and then Dave and Beatriz brought everyone into their house for more drinks. I had one and then left, so I don’t know anything else. I had to call my wife. She speaks fluent English you know, so we didn’t speak Spanish, don’t worry.”
The W word. Wife. There it was. There, he said it. Proof that the ring wasn’t a stylistic choice, proof that he wasn’t separated. Wife. She existed. And I had to stop caring what he thought about me. I looked down at a pot of steaming scrambled eggs that a cook just placed down and entertained the thought of turning it over on my head. That would be a good start.
The toast popped out of the toaster and I nearly jumped out of my boots.
“It’s funny,” he mused, putting the slices of toast on our plates. He nudged my arm gently with his elbow, getting me to move along. “You say that everyone seemed really close. I have known Beatriz before.”
I resisted the urge to look at her sitting at the table. I remembered what she looked like: long sheet of black hair, poker straight, tanned, glowing skin, perfect white teeth and a model body clad in a buttercream shift.
“How so?” I asked, not really caring.
“She is a reporter, on television. She used to cover some of our games. She interviewed me, many times. When you’re on the national team, you get to know every…personality.”
I had no idea what that meant and I wasn’t about to ask. I was at the end of the line anyway and finished my plate with a churro that I picked up with my hands. I waved it at Mateo. “See you later,” I said, trying to sound cool and cheery and all that jazz, even though the churro was still hot and the sugared grease was burning a hole into my fingers.